Better Alone
by nopeway
Summary: It's Johnlock okay. [DISCONTINUED]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a bit short I'm sorry.

* * *

**Better Alone**

* * *

**Chapter One**

He liked to watch John sleep at times. John always looked happy and younger when he slept. He would quietly forget a case for a moment to catch every detail of him. What he wore, what position he was in, everything. It was one of few things that were quite peaceful to Sherlock Holmes.

Somehow, John always caught Sherlock's attention in his quiet, small moments. When he would read, when he would type, when he sipped tea, and especially when he smiled. The tall, mysterious man couldn't help but smile for a second when he caught John smiling.

* * *

They sat together quietly, silently, really. Not a sound except for the London streets below. Sherlock was thinking complexly while John was typing up another story to put on his blog.

"Sherlock?" John asked, his eyes shifting to the brown haired man sitting beside him.

"Be quiet. I'm thinking," Sherlock replied back harshly, getting up to grab the violin in his hands, playing the instrument like always. John always loved it when Sherlock would play it.

Every so often John would look up from his laptop, catching glimpses of the high functioning sociopath in the process of thinking. To others, it looked insane. They always would question, "How can one think like _that_?" But John never questioned Sherlock's ways, only admired them and their brilliance. There was one thing about this time, though. One question that has arisen in John due to the circumstances.

"Sherlock, we're not even working on a case. What possibly could you need to think about?" He asked, curiously watching the man as he immediately stopped, not even glancing at John.

"Things," Sherlock began vaguely, "Things that you don't need to be asking about, John."

"So these 'things' involve me, then? You're not telling me that it's none of my business like you usually imply."

"I didn't say that. Don't jump to conclusions, John," he responded, quickly like always, but it was different this time.

As if he was protecting himself.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I promise to write a longer chapter tomorrow.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

John decided it was wise to drop it.

Sherlock Holmes was much too stubborn to let John know what he was thinking about.

To know his _true_ feelings.

Because no one thought Holmes had a heart. Except John Watson.

He went to his room to sleep, leaving Sherlock alone once again. It was beginning to snow outside; a white blanket, beginning to descend upon London. Sherlock just stared at the white drops of frozen water descending towards the earth. Some moved faster than others, and some moved slowly, as if they were pieces of paper. Secretly, he appreciated the snow just like he did with the stars. The violin was still in his hands as he stared outside, though. Thoughts were racing while his pulse was steadying. Two hours had gone by in what it seemed two minutes to him, and he slowly got up, setting the violin down in its place.

He walked almost silently in the direction of John's room. The door was slightly cracked open so he could just peak in to see how deep he was sleeping. It was as if he was knocked out cold, buried in dreams that were unknown to Sherlock. He opened the door slowly until it was wide enough to where he could slip in silently. In the dim light he stepped towards the peaceful and sleeping man, kissing his exposed forehead before stepping out once again.

He has been doing that about every night for two weeks, not to John's knowledge of course. Sherlock Holmes was and always will be a secretive man. Building up an emotional barrier to keep all those who dared to try and see him for who he really was out. In truth, he was a depressed man. You could see it in his eyes in small moments that last not even a second most of the time. You could see it when he was in his room while he paced, and thought of the latest round of insults thrown at him. He always seemed to be so apathetic to everyone and everything around him. In truth, he was depressed because he was so intelligent, and he could see the horrible world for what it really is, but no one has seen him in such a way.

Only John Watson has gotten the closest for seeing him for who he is.

He slipped out, positioning the door where it was originally. He walked silently into his dim room, lit by the soft rays of city light and moonlight slipping in through the window. London was already white while Sherlock stayed blue. He knew his feelings for his 'friend' but he shoved them away. The lack of cases created more desperation for some type of distraction. Perhaps he should go on a walk in London tomorrow with John, maybe buying some decorations for Christmas. Yes, Christmas shopping could be some sort of a distraction for Sherlock.

The only thing is, could he keep from smiling at John's almost certain happiness due to the Christmas season?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Tried to make this one longish okay.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

A simple brush of the hand is what made him freeze.

A simple touch made a genius freeze for only a second.

The brushing of their hands happened on the way out. John was giddy and excited to hear Sherlock propose such a thing to him. He had a soft, warm smile as he began to leave; putting on the coat for it was still snowing in London. He walked swiftly towards the door, which Sherlock was holding open with a single hand on the knob. It was on for a second, as if John was about to close the door, his hand rested upon Sherlock's.

"Oh, sorry!" he said before taking his hand off of Sherlock's quickly.

"It's okay," Sherlock replied, more hesitantly than usual, but John was already downstairs. He was frozen physically for a second. Still, he felt the man's hand upon his own, warm and safe. Two feelings Sherlock rarely felt, and in that moment, Sherlock realized something.

He was beginning to fall for John Watson.

* * *

They walked side by side, their eyes trailing to the other man when he wasn't watching. John kept dragging a reluctant Sherlock into shops to buy Christmas decorations for the flat. Sherlock didn't mind as much as he emphasized. He liked seeing John so excited.

After about two hours and one trip to drop off the decorations at the flat later, Sherlock decided they should go to lunch together.

"Oh, you mean where people think we're on a date, right?"

"Yes that's exactly what I mean. Plus, you're obviously hungry anyway. Just look at your face and of its annoying pitifulness."

"And here comes the annoying dick attitude once again," John said, causing them both to emit a chuckle before setting off to the café.

* * *

They sat quietly, Sherlock just staring out the window. He hardly ate. He'd go days without eating if John wouldn't plead him to sometimes. It worried John sometimes.

"Why don't you order something?" John asked in an almost precautious manner.

"Not hungry," Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Sherlock we've been over this. You need to eat. I mean, geniuses have to eat too."

"Oh so you _do _think I'm a genius?" he said, a small smile appearing.

"Well you say you are all the time."

"Yes, John, but there's a difference between hearing and believing. I thought you would get that," he said, glancing.

"Okay, that's nice to know, but order something or I'll force you to wear reindeer antlers."

Sherlock just turned his head to meet John eyes, and responded in an almost childish manner, "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would," John said, grinning quite mischievously.

"Fine," Sherlock said with finality before calling a server over to order a muffin. John smiled warmly once again saying, "Good boy."

"John I'm a high functioning sociopath not a dog," Sherlock responded annoyed and almost glaring at the man in front of him.

"Yes, a high functioning sociopath who obviously cannot take a joke," John said before turning his attention to the laptop that was in front of him and now open.

"At least I'm not Mycroft, I mean, the queen," they both chuckled remembering Mycroft Holmes and how royal and stuck up he always acted.

He then returned his attention back to the window and the now beautifully white London. Snow could always capture Sherlock in a trance. So strange how it could make even the most horrible world appear peaceful and beautiful.

John always loved to see Sherlock like that.

_His _Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for not posting this yesterday. I was trying to think of ideas for this chapter. :3

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

They, mostly John, decorated the flat to fit the season. London was now a soft, cold blanket of white but in high spirits. Sherlock though was like always. Blunt, honest, antisocial, rude, and quite clever, but John had learned to get used to it. Although he'd scold him every time an old client brought over a present in which Sherlock would immediately find out what it is.

"By the way, since you obviously don't know, you're supposed to thank a person when they give you a present."

"How am I supposed to thank someone for giving me completely irrelevant 'gifts' I hate, John?"

"It's the nice thing to do, Sherlock."

Sherlock paused for a moment and then sarcastically said, "Because the world really needs more nice idiots, sugarcoating everything, saying lies just to make people feel better, John, yes. That's exactly what I'll do, and maybe I should be friends with my brother while I'm at it!"

"You know, it couldn't hurt being nice ever once in a while, Sherlock," John responded with annoyance ever so present in his voice.

"I _am _nice every once in a while," Sherlock countered.

"Really? To who? That violin?"

"No," he said calmly, sitting out on the sofa before continuing, "To Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and _you_."

John paused while stringing up another pair of lights around the apartment. The words were true, very true. John was wrong. He hated being proven wrong by Sherlock.

"No comeback? So I _am_ right like always?" Sherlock said, cutting the silence while wearing a triumphant smirk.

"You're not _always_ right, Sherlock. Remember the first time we met and you thought Harry was my brother?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Sherlock responded like a little child, turning away and staring out the window as John continued to decorate the flat. Sherlock stared at the white snow, sitting and soon standing to see all of its cold and subtle beauty. He had almost lost touch with reality with something as irrelevant as snow, until John spoke, cutting the silence like a knife.

"So you _do_ like the snow?" he asked the tall man, staring outside the window.

"Why do you say it like that?" the brunette responded, unmoving as his eyes fixated on every detail of the beautiful substance that covered London.

"Every time you're near a window and it's snowing, you seem to get lost in a trance of some sort, as if you're captured by its beauty."

"You can say it like that. It's irrelevant but beautiful. Like the stars. Remember when I pointed out that I like the stars?"

"Yes, I do. I was quite surprised that coming from a man who thinks the earth orbits around the sun is completely irrelevant."

"It _is_."

"That's what you think, Sherlock. Others think otherwise, although you don't seem to be very accepting of that." That was a true statement. Sherlock's thoughts about people thinking space and the solar system being relevant were mostly negative. For a specific reason, though.

"Why should I accept those people's thoughts when they only accept me when they _need_ me then cast me away as a freak of nature with absolutely no emotions, John?" The statement struck John, making him stop and turn at the genius at the window. Sherlock Holmes, a mostly emotionless man. Or was he?

Then, John Watson realized something. Sherlock Holmes was not some super human or a freak of nature. Sherlock Holmes, who was on the side of the angels, was the most human being he had ever met.

And he loved that.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Because I'm nice I shall release this today. It's a bit short I know.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

That night, Sherlock locked himself in his room. Alone, secluded from the world he paced, panicking. There was nothing to do but panic about the feelings about John Watson surfacing faster than the speed of light. He paced faster and faster every second the word 'love' and 'John' showed up in the same sentence in his mind.

He is Sherlock Holmes. Love is a disadvantage he promised himself to never meet.

So _how_?

How can Sherlock Holmes be falling in love with John Watson?

It's was a completely new concept to him, on he never dared to touch. Caring to the point of loving was absolutely dangerous to him. It was where the most trust was present, but where trust could be easily shattered therefore destroying the person.

_How how __**how?**_

How could it be?

How could ever allow himself to begin to fall in such a pit of despair, hurt, trust, and care?

How could John Watson do this to _him_?

Those questions made him almost collapse at his window. He so dearly wanted all of this out of his head but he couldn't. He soon started to throw things, just random things. He was trying to do something to take his anger at himself out on. After that he grabbed his gun and went into the living room and began shooting bullets at the wall, not caring if it woke anyone in the building.

"What in the _hell_ are you doing?" John said, running in, flustered as ever, "Sherlock can you even hear me?" He asked, grabbing the panicked man, causing him to flinch.

"Do not _touch _me," Sherlock almost yelled, turning towards John, scowling.

"Look, if you're bored, here, do something that wouldn't destroy the wall and wake everyone up," John said this as he shoved Sherlock's violin in his chest, taking the gun away from him.

"Fine," he responded, almost like a child, grabbing and playing the music, filling the flat with a brilliant yet angry tune. The tired soldier went back to his room anyway, flustered and frustrated yet again by the almost unbearable genius.

Almost.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: It's a bit short. :P

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

After hour after hour of panicking and playing the violin, he finally collapsed on the sofa into staring at the wall, hour after hour. When John woke up, he was still there. Staring, obviously thinking about something. Something John thought was completely irrelevant to him.

In fact, it was the opposite.

John decided to break the silence by asking, "Do you want to go get some coffee?"

"I'm thinking, John," he simply replied. John sighed, sitting in a chair diagonal from Sherlock, opening the laptop not knowing the war going on in the madman's head.

Sherlock barely spoke that day. He'd just play his violin, momentarily eat, and drink. He mostly thought, though, and avoided conversation with John at all costs.

Towards the end of the day, John finally spoke up to him, "By the way, on Christmas Eve, like we did last year, are we going to invite all of our friends over again?"

"I don't have friends. Only one, John. You."

John began to blush ever so slightly at the words, but he continued on, "You have Mrs. Hudson, though. Also there's Lestrade, Mol-"

"Yes but they're not like you. They don't understand the things we both do."

"Meaning?"

"I'm a giant in a small world, okay, we both know that. When I'm with you I feel somewhat not alone," Sherlock said before he had realized what exactly he was saying. He swiftly walked into his room not even a second after his realization, locking himself in, forcing seclusion upon himself once again.

"_Stupid,_" he whispered to himself, anger and hatred at his own existence growing and growing by the passing seconds, "Why are you so stupid when you talk to him? What was that all about?" He continued, wanting so badly to rip his hair out.

What is it that John Watson does to him that makes him like this?

What?

There was a knock at the door, obviously John.

"Sherlock?"

"Leave."

"Bu-"

"I said _leave._"

And he did, wondering why his madman keep locking himself up in his room, leaving him to figure out what had happened. But, there was one thing he did know. Sherlock Holmes actually thought of him as an _equal_.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Writing this one made me die okay.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

The next morning, John sat diagonally from Sherlock once again, momentarily looking up at him. He seemed more tense and secluded than usual. Now always avoiding John at all costs, fidgeting, and being silent as ever.

"Is something bothering you?"

"Why would you ask that?" he simply countered.

"You've been acting stranger than usual. Isolation, avoidance, and fidgeting; there's obviously something wrong."

"It's nothing."

"Sherlock, don't lie. You're horrible at that when it comes to me," he said, setting the coffee and laptop down. Sherlock just turned, squinting at him for a moment before John said, "What? Are you just going to deduce me again like always?"

"No," he replied coolly, "I'm trying to figure something out, John."

"What is that exactly?"

"Well, for one, why do you always seem to care about what people say to me, and why am I such a 'terrible' liar when it comes to you," and with that, John froze when the first question slipped out of the sociopath's mouth. John _obviously _loved Sherlock in some sort of way, but he himself did not know which way.

"To a-answer the first," he said with a slight stutter, "perhaps it's because I'm your friend?"

"Do not lie."

"I'm not," he squinted again, rising, beginning to walk around the blond flatmate until he got up, obviously uncomfortable.

"I'm going to get presents."

"Do you want me to come with?"

"No," and so he left, grabbing his wallet and putting it inside his coat once it was on, leaving Sherlock to himself once again.

He never knew what true loneliness felt like until John left him standing alone in his flat.

"Stop that, Sherlock, _stop_," he said as soon as the cravings for John Watson's closeness came to him, "_Stop it, now," _he kept repeating, over and over, hour after hour. He was alone as he had always been. A pariah to the world. Except to John.

* * *

He entered the flat, the sound of a violin filling his eardrums as soon as he walked in. In his hands were many bags filled with soon to wrapped gifts. His eyes lingered around only to stop at the sociopath who was playing the beautiful music, and for a moment, he relished in it before the man stopped, forcing John to look away and set the bags in his room.

"John?" Sherlock yelled.

"Yes Sherlock?" John yelled back as soon as the bags were set down and he started walking back in the living room.

"Did you happen to get anything for me?"

"Yes but it's at one of my friend's house in case you try to find it. I actually want it to be a surprise."

"I'll guess it as soon as you give it to me anyway, so that's no use."

"Yes, you will, because I'm not wrapping your gift this time."

The brunette quirked an eyebrow, his eyes trailing to John's in curiosity.

"Well I said I wanted it to be a surprise so it will."

"Oh," is all he could say, "Damn. I like guessing presents,"

"Well you're not guessing this one, Sherlock," John said, taking a seat on the sofa before asking, "By the way, have you eaten yet?"

"Why must you be so obsessed as to if I eat or not," Sherlock mumbled grouchily, sitting next to John.

"Well high functioning sociopaths need to eat, too," this caused both of them to chuckle, remembering their first case together.

"I will later, but I want to do something first."

John rolled his eyes in complete annoyance, "What? Hang another dummy in here?"

"No," Sherlock said, chuckling, "For a couple of days I have been thinking, since I have no cases to work, about the horrible things that humans are all plagued with: Emotions. Now, if you accept this, this experiment can go either way, but we must promise that we will still somewhat like each other in the end."

"Wait, are you going to hang _me_ in here?" Sherlock smiled and chuckled, causing John to emit a soft smile back.

"No, well, how do I put this?"

"What?"

"Just stand up, and close your eyes," he simply demanded.

"Okay now I'm afr-"

"Just do it," he demanded once again following with John standing and closing his eyes as instructed.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

"Just wait a moment," Sherlock said hesitantly before resting shaking hands on John's shoulders, bringing his lips to clash with John's.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry this is so late guys. :3

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

John was absolutely caught by surprise. Sherlock Holmes was kissing him. Not scolding, insulting, or deducing him, no. He was _kissing_ him.

This was strange to him, quite strange.

But also rather enjoyable.

Sherlock pulled away a little, though, his hands now on John's cheeks, he was shaking quite badly. A nervous wreck, afraid, so afraid that he had just ruined the only true friendship he had ever had, but that was not the case.

"Sherlock?" asked John rather calmly, his hands traveling their ways up to rest on Sherlock's.

"Don't tell me you'll leave now," he said, like a young, scared child. That's what he felt, and he actually showed it for once. He didn't even realize he was.

"I'm not, Sherlock, I wouldn't," he replied, quite astonished as to how Sherlock was acting. As if the kiss had completely changed his life.

Which it had.

Sherlock Holmes since age 19 realized he was gay, but never told absolutely anyone. He knew that the massive bullying he was already receiving would increase, and so he distracted himself with knowledge for years, convincing everyone, even himself that he was asexual.

Then he met John Watson.

And with that, his life began to slowly change no matter how badly he didn't want it to. He wanted to stay in a world of isolation, away from the ordinary people that he oh so loathed for their ignorance.

And envied.

He envied them so.

Who would legitimately crave to be so intelligent that you resort to shooting walls out of complete boredom? Ordinary was quite boring, yes, but it was something that Sherlock could not feel until he would solve a case correctly or be around John.

And that feeling was happiness.

Pure happiness.

A feeling that ordinary people often took for granted, while people like Sherlock and Moriarty relished in the feeling when it was so rarely present.

"Sherlock, are you okay? You're a bit pale," John said, snapping him back to reality.

"I'm fine I just need to…. sit. Yes, I need to sit," Sherlock responded quite anxiously, lowering himself down to the sofa, "This is rather new."

"Meaning?"

"These feelings are not what I usually feel. By the way, did I destroy, you know, us or were you okay with that, John?"

"I was completely fine with it, Sherlock," a flicker of a smile appeared only for a second on the sociopath's face, only to disappear as he began to compose himself.

"Were _you_ fine with it, though, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I just – I'm just – you know, not so well in that department," Sherlock said, breathing deeply to close his eyes and think.

"I know, Sherlock, you told me that before."

"Are you sure it was okay? I mean, I know you're hetero –"

"I don't think I genuinely am anymore, Sherlock, I'm about as confused as you are. Well at least I assume that's what's going through your mind, but I'm almost sure I'm wrong," Sherlock's eyes brightened up a bit. So he _hadn't _destroyed them.

"You are. No surprise, of course. An ordinary person like you can't really get in a high functioning sociopath's mind."

"At least you're back to normal again," John said with a chuckle, beginning to walk to his bedroom.

Sherlock was displeased at this. A strong craving for closeness he had shut himself off to for years came to him, and he hated it. He felt as if he was losing control with himself, and Sherlock Holmes' number one fear was loss of the thing he had the most.

Control.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I wanted to say, thank y'all for the nice reviews. :D I might post chapter ten tonight.

Might. :3

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

He stayed up all night in his room once again until he heard John entering the living room, preparing some coffee for himself. Sherlock walked into the flat's living room, a sheet wrapped around himself as his eyes seemingly flittering to John's as if it was by accident, but it was not.

"Good morning, and um, are you wearing anything under that?"

"Nope," Sherlock responded as if it was the most casual thing in the world just to appear, only wearing a sheet. He sat down at the sofa, taking out his laptop and typing away.

"Of course you aren't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's no surprise that just walking in with only a sheet on is no big deal."

"Well I did take a shower last night but I didn't feel like putting on any clothes. Problem?"

"Not at all," he replied, sitting next to Sherlock, taking a sip of coffee while looking tired with his messy morning hair and tired eyes. Sherlock's eyes darted down, forcing himself to contain the smile trying so hard to surface upon his face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I am," Sherlock said rather quickly, composing himself in almost record time. He was almost professional at that.

"Alright, I'm going to take a shower. Bye," John said, kissing Sherlock's cheek before leaving Sherlock alone once again.

Sherlock was frozen, a hand brushing over the spot where John's lips touched lightly to his cheek bone. Again, he was white as a sheet, shaking at the feelings and emotions swirling through him.

"Get out of my head," he whispered, leaning over to press his elbows to the table as the sheet lowered a bit to where his upper back showed.

"Get _out_," he repeated, shaking harder. Sherlock Holmes hated this….loss of control. It's something he only experienced in his childhood, which wasn't exactly bright and sunny.

* * *

About 20 minutes passed by when John came back, hair wet, still in a robe as he sat down curiously next to Sherlock.

"Is this about –"

"No."

"Are you –"

"Yes," he said rather annoyed, "John, hand me my violin."

"You're going to play it while in a sheet?"

"Yes, and?"

"Oh, nothing," John said, reaching for the instrument and handing it to the brunette. When Sherlock began playing John got up, walking to his room to wear some actual clothes.

After a few minutes, John heard the violin stop, assuming he just resumed to think or go put on some clothes. After a few more minutes, John returned to the living room to see a sleeping Sherlock on the couch. A small smile appeared as he decided to just silently head out to get Sherlock another present.

* * *

When John returned, Sherlock was sitting there like usual, strumming the violin strings not even bothering to look up at John.

"Where did you go?" questioned the sociopath.

"On a walk, and I got you another present," the last words caught Sherlock's attention.

"What is it, then?"

"You'll see on Christmas."

"But that's two weeks aw –"

"Problem?" John said, smirking at Sherlock. Sherlock, who was a bit mad at the fact that he had to wait for it emitted a smirk in return before it faded away.

"Fine," he said, strumming his violin again.

"By the way, when do you have to go to that Christmas dinner with your family?"

"If by 'Family Christmas Dinner' you mean hell then the 24th, unfortunately."

"What makes it so bad, Sherlock?"

"Everything about it. Even the food. Mum could never cook well."

"Oh," John said, sitting on the sofa, grabbing his laptop to begin to write.

"What are you writing about now?"

"A story, basically, since there's no cases right now."

"About?"

"This Christmas. It's just in the works, though, and I'm not going to include some details."

"Oh. Why, exactly?"

"So they don't rub it in that 'they were right'," Sherlock chuckled when John said this, leaning back in his chair, his blue-green eyes lingering to the window again to stare at the snow. All while he did this he never caught John's short glances at him.

And he never caught himself glancing at John, also.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is a bit long. Well I count that as a success, actually. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

It was now the 23rd, Sherlock and John were away from each other due to the Holmes' Christmas dinner. John already had his with the Watsons the night before. John quietly prepared for Sherlock's angry return due to his mother scolding Sherlock over not having a real job and Mycroft being a pompous ass the whole time.

In the two weeks leading up to this, Sherlock and John's relationship slowly grew. They never kissed or held hands or went to sleep in the same bed together, no, but they did just talk, kissed each other on the cheek, and tease each other. John even caught Sherlock slipping into his room to kiss him on the forehead like always, but he never mentioned it. He just kept it to himself, smiling a bit when he thought of the small moment the sociopathic genius turned tender.

* * *

The door swung open around 8 o'clock, John didn't even flinch.

"Did I ever tell you about how much I absolutely _hate_ my family?"

"Maybe once or twice. Enlighten me on what happened this time?"

"Mycroft's existence."

"You can be a little more specific, yes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, walking on the table only to collapse on the sofa out of pure spite, "The whole evening he was being a pompous ass like always, but hear this, this time he kept making comments about how I'm a so called anorexic insomniac who should eat but is too busy playing around with dead bodies and his 'boyfriend'."

John froze for a second at the words 'boyfriend', knowing he meant _him_, but he just asked, "Did you do anything to initiate that?"

"I just said he needed to lose more weight, that's all."

John sighed, rubbing his eyes, "Sherlock, you don't say that at the dinner table."

"What? He was eating like a pig and it was _obvious _he had gained a bit more weight. _And _they were attacking me for being 'unusual', 'not like your big brother', and 'such a little child' when I hardly said anything. I mean, it's not my fault my true mother wasn't really there and Mycroft was my so-called mum."

"Well he must care if he took over as mum."

"He didn't, John, he tortured me throughout my whole childhood just like everyone else did until when I was 19, when mum was actually home, I just started screaming at him and he did the same to me and then mum was upset and of course threw _me _out and not him because I was gay."

John paused for a moment, his eyes lingering from his laptop to a spiteful Sherlock that turned his back to him on the sofa. Sherlock's face was turning red, his hands clasping together. John was about to speak when Sherlock said, "Where's the cigarettes?"

"Don't you want a patch, and how did they even know you –"

"My mum just knew I was even before I found out because her brother was so she knew the 'signs', and no, I want a cigarette now where in the bloody hell did you hide them now, John?"

"I'll give them to you in a moment but –"

"Yes I made myself asexual for my own good and that own good is none of your business now give me a cigarette."

"No, you don't need one."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, getting up and locking himself in his room once again. John just sat there again, sighing deeply and staring at Sherlock's door. He got up and went to Sherlock's door, knocking and telling Sherlock to let him in. For a few minutes, Sherlock was silent and relenting. After those few minutes and a realization that John would not let up, he unlocked his door, letting John in.

John had only been in Sherlock's room once or twice, Sherlock barely went in it unless he was troubled or wanted to go to his mind palace. Sherlock just sat on the side of the bed, his eyes fixated on the only window in there. John sat next to him, fidgeting a bit before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Sher –"

"You better be," John rolled his eyes at the statement.

"I can't just let you have a cigarette when you've been doing so good not to use them."

"Why can't I? I've been a good boy, haven't I?" they both smiled then chuckled at his response.

"Yes, but a reward for being good can't be one you're trying not to have, Sherlock, it's illogical."

"Then what can I have? Can I have an early present? It _is_ Christmas Eve in a couple of hours."

"Fine, just wait here," John said, getting up and walking out of the room only to return a minute later with something behind his back.

"Let me see it," Sherlock said, staring at John quite intensely.

"Let you see it, what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, "Please."

John smiled, revealing a book in his hand. Sherlock got up, grabbing it out of his hand. He turned it over to read the name.

"Shakespeare," Sherlock said quietly, "Hamlet, to be exact. How did you –"

"The books on your bookshelf and saw you had a bit of a knack for old sonnets and plays."

Sherlock smiled a little, his eyes examining the book before trailing to John, "I love it, John," he smiled a bit more, leaning in to kiss John's cheek.

"Goodnight now, John."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I made this long because I haven't updated it in a couple days. I may be posting 12 tonight. Merry Christmas, by the way! c:

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

The next morning, John entered in the living room to a thinking Sherlock. Apparently, at his mind palace due to the way he was looking like. Sherlock's eyes opened the moment he heard John's footsteps.

"John, could you make me some tea?"

"Why do _I _always have to make it?"

"Well one, you're good at it, and two, I'm too busy thinking."

John rolled his eyes walking to the kitchen to begin making the tea. He was used to the human body parts scattered throughout the kitchen now, so it didn't bother him to see yet another severed head in the freezer.  
Sherlock was grinning, satisfied with himself for convincing John to make the tea. He got up, stepping on the table to go to the window. His eyes lingered to the peaceful streets below for a few minutes.

"Ah, all the peaceful ignorance. You should know very well as to what bliss ignorance is, John."

"Sherlock just because we don't have a case doesn't mean you have to act like more of an ass than usual."

"Well I'm bored, and you hid my gun."

"Because I don't want the wall to be ruined again. You know how Mrs. Hudson hates that."

"And?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow and turning to look at John. John just shook his head, pouring the tea in cups, and walking into the living room setting it on the table. He sat down in his chair, pulling out his laptop once again.

"There's your tea, Sherlock," he said to the sociopath, gesturing a little to the cups.

Sherlock walked over and behind John, leaning over him to grab the cup, "Thank you, John," he said before quickly walking over the table to sit on the couch.

"You can go around the table, you know."

"Dull," he said simply, sipping the tea, "When is that stupid little party going to be?"

"6 o'clock."

"Oh yay," he said in annoyance, "Every 'round here saying hi to each other, getting drunk and even more annoying than usual, and giving each other presents as if they actually care about each other. What fun this will be, John!" Sherlock continued in a sarcastic tone.

"Sherlock just be tolerant of that for once. It's Christmas."

"So? I don't celebrate it. I don't believe in some 'almighty' immortal being judging us all to see how we will spend the so called 'afterlife'. Completely illogical."

"Yes I know that but it's the season where everyone is actually happy. You should try happiness for once."

"Yes because I always find joy in the huge disadvantages to life that are called love and caring."

"Act like you do for once," John said, pausing to see the smoldering Sherlock Holmes, "For me?"

Sherlock looked at John, pouting a bit before saying finally, "Fine."

"Good."

* * *

Later that evening, the guests for the small get together arrived. Sarah, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly were there as Sherlock played Christmas tunes on the violin for them. John was wearing yet another jumper, a horrid Christmas one this time.

"And you say that those are wonderful," said Sherlock grinning after finishing a tune. The whole room chuckled at Sherlock's teasing.

"I thought you said you were going to be nice."

"Well it is a bit hard to swallow, John," said Lestrade chuckling.

"See, Lestrade agrees."

"Oh you shut it," John said, sitting down in his chair.

Molly patted John's shoulder saying, "Oh John, they just like to tease you, that's all. You just have a short yet amusing temper, that's all."

"Plus it's fun anyway," Sherlock said, grinning once again.

Sherlock set the violin down to go on his laptop. John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly were having coco together while Lestrade was drinking a bit of wine.

"Sherlock, why don't you join us?" said Mrs. Hudson, smiling and looking at the high functioning sociopath as if he were her own child.

"Busy," he replied.

"Oh Sherlock, there's guests. Get off of the computer and join us," Mrs. Hudson said, causing Sherlock to make eye contact with her, "Please, Sherlock?"

"Oh fine, but be lucky it was you talking and not one of the others," Sherlock said, getting up and walking over to the table.

"What are you all doing and where do I sit?" he asked seriously.

"We're sharing stories and having something to drink," said Molly.

"Oh how dull. Why can't we play Cluedo?"

"Because you always beat us so what's the point," said Lestrade.

"My satisfaction," replied Sherlock.

"Just pull up a chair and drink something. You can drink either wine or coco," John responded.

"I refuse to drink alcohol due to the loss of control and the horribleness you feel when you drink it so coco it is," Sherlock mumbled a bit quickly, pulling up a chair next to John.

* * *

For a couple of hours they shared stories. Sherlock told stories of bizarre cases, John shared childhood and stories of Sherlock and the few happy moments he had in the war, Lestrade told stories of Sherlock, Anderson, and his ex-wife and kids, Molly told stories of Sherlock, the morgue, and her childhood, and Mrs. Hudson told stories of her husband and he times with Sherlock. It seemed as if Sherlock Holmes was a reoccurring theme in storytelling.

They all left after giving John and Sherlock presents. John gave them presents in return, shushing Sherlock when he was about to say he didn't get them any of those presents. John wouldn't allow Sherlock to hold the presents due to the fact that he always figures out what was in them.

* * *

Soon, they were alone. It was quite peaceful until Sherlock saw everyone had finally left.

"I'm bored, John," Sherlock said grumpily.

"I thought you had a not so dull time at the party, though."

"Most of the stories were about me for some reason so I knew their endings, and the others were just as predictable. I was trying not to scream their endings for your sake."

"My sake?"

"What? I didn't want to piss you off the 15th time today, is that bad?"

"Surprising when it comes to you."

"Of course it's surprising because everyone thinks I'm completely cold and heartless although I'm on the side of the angels."

John paused, guiltily looking down for a moment, "I'm sorry,"

"You better be," Sherlock said plainly, going to his room. John slipped in before Sherlock could lock him out.

"What now? Do you want me to be even 'nicer'? Or, how about this, call my big brother and wish him a merry Christmas! Ah, yes, I'll do that!" Sherlock spat at him sarcastically.

"Sherlock –"

"Or maybe I should just give Anderson and Sergeant Donovan a big ole' hug and wish them merry Christmas too!"

"Sherlock, stop that," John said, obviously seeing Sherlock was in a horrible mood.

"Because I have no case, nothing other than to sit in this flat and focus on my feelings which I have and always will _hate_ doing, and do you know why? Because _apparently_ they are nonexistent to the whole god dammed human race!"

"Sherlock!" John yelled, grabbing Sherlock's face and pulling down to eye level, "Stop that, now."

"Why? Even you obviously believe it."

"If I did then why am I your partner, you friend?"

Sherlock paused, his eyebrows furrowing once again in a confused scowl.

"Let me answer for you, it is impossible to be one's partner/friend if the other doesn't have the same _feelings_ for them."

Sherlock's tense face softened just slightly, getting John's point before his hands rested on John's hands then his cheeks, leaning in and finally kissing him for the second time in his life.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry this is a bit late, but at least it's longish!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

Once again, John was taken aback by a surprise kiss. This time, for the both of them, it didn't feel like it was a sort of an experiment. As if it was just natural, this time, not a bit awkward.

Sherlock, of course, was the first to pull away from John, "Thank you, now goodnight, John."

* * *

When John woke up in the morning, he felt a certain weight pressed to him. A pale arm was wrapped around him and brown curls rubbed the back of his neck ever so gently. The even warm breaths sent chills down John's back when it hit his skin. He turned over causing the man to wake up also.

"Hi," Sherlock simply said.

"What are you-?"

"I was cold," Sherlock responded, turning over and jumping out of the bed, "Come on, John, I made tea last night after 10 tries."

"10?"

"It was irrelevant information that I deleted a long time ago."

"Then how did you-?"

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Ah, yes, of course."

"She made it and I poured it."

"No surprise."

"Well she saved the plates and cups so I think you should be happy about that," Sherlock said, turning around to walk into the living room quickly. John followed in a red robe while Sherlock had just put on his blue one. Sherlock was heating up the tea while John was sitting in his chair.

"Now, John, for today and today only I shall allow myself to show my," he paused, almost cringing, "…affection. Only a little bit, okay?"

"Sounds fair," John replied, smiling a little to himself. Sherlock brought him his cup, walking over the table to the window to 'appreciate' the snow.

"Look how peaceful. The snow is sure beautiful but the people… Isn't it hateful?"

"Sherlock," John said a bit annoyed.

"What? Oh! Whoops, too late, I said it," Sherlock said grinning at John's annoyance.

"You can take a break from hating the peaceful human race for once."

"Yes, but I choose not to. That would mean I would have to just lie my arse off."

John chuckled a little taking a sip of the tea in his hand. Sherlock grabbed his violin and bow, almost collapsing on the couch to begin cleaning the bow. He had a handkerchief in his robe's pocket at all times in case he needed to.

"You're going to play that again?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied, his eyes furrowed as he just concentrated on cleaning the bow. John pulled out his laptop from under his chair, Sherlock glanced over.

"Oh, are you going to voice your opinions on the world again?"

"No, I'm continuing on writing the Christmas story, Sherlock."

"You are editing out our moments, right?"

"Yes."

"Good because I don't want Mycroft to know."

"Why don't you want him to know, exactly?" John asked, pausing to look up at Sherlock.

"So he doesn't know that he was right about the boyfriend thing, okay?" Sherlock said frustrated, standing up to begin playing Christmas tunes.

After a few songs, Mrs. Hudson came in and Sherlock stopped playing to greet her.

"Oh, are you two having a bit of special bonding?" She asked the boys, smiling away.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, we're just spending another morning together like always," John said as Sherlock rolled his eyes and whispered after leaned down to his ear.

"Because that doesn't sound homosexual at all, John," Sherlock said, smirking slightly before walking over to Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson had become a mother figure to Sherlock. Sherlock could always talk to her about his weird fetish with strange serial killings, murders, and cases without feeling the slightest bit of judgment from her. She also liked them a bit, too, so the two bonded a bit over that fact. Also, obviously, she knew Sherlock was gay but never treated him differently like his own family did for the fact. So, Sherlock indeed did care about Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said with a hint of a smile.

"Hello, Sherlock! John, how's the tea?"

"Oh fine, very good."

"Good. You did tell him that _I_ made it, right?" Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock.

"Yes, of course I did," Sherlock answered, turning to look at John for just a moment.

"Heard him yelling at the plates, cups, and kettles. I went up there when he started threatening the kettle with, what was it again?"

"Damn it to oblivion."

"Damn it to oblivion?" John asked, tilting his head at Sherlock.

"Ah, yes, that. Poor Sherlock was surprisingly too tired to think straight. See Sherlock, that's what you get for staying up weeks on end," Mrs. Hudson said turning to Sherlock scolding him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, don't you think it's time to take your pain relievers for that hip, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh yes! I almost forgot, thank you Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson replied, winking at Sherlock before closing the door.

"What was that wink all about?"

"Oh nothing now continue writing, my short little blogger," Sherlock said, kissing John's cheek before going to the washroom.

"Where are you going?" John yelled after Sherlock.

"Shower!" Sherlock yelled back, shutting the door behind him. John was again left alone, pulling out his phone to phone Molly for Sherlock's present. The thought of giving Sherlock the surprise made him smile.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: This is late, I know, I was just trying to figure out how to make this good.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

After about fifteen minutes, Molly Hooper came over. Sherlock was only in a sheet while he was at his mind palace in his room, leaving John to secretly get the secret gift he asked Molly to keep so Sherlock wouldn't spoil it.

"By the way, I saw the present you and Sherlock got me, I loved those sweaters!"

"I thought you would," John said smiling, taking the box in hand and putting it under his chair.

"He'll know it's there, you know," Molly said, glancing under the chair.

"It would surprise me if it didn't," John responded, chuckling a little, "I'll call you later, tell you how he reacted."

"Alright! Merry Christmas, John! Tell Sherlock that I wish him a merry Christmas, too," Molly said, walking out of the room.

"I will, merry Christmas, Molly!"

After the door to the flat shut, Sherlock walked into the room, his eyes taking in every changed detail. He was only wearing a sheet once again, not even bothering to put on trousers once again.

"Molly Hooper was here, wasn't she?"

"How can-"

"The perfume, I've smelled the same scent many times, and my guess she was here because she was bringing a present. Just look at the metallic red ribbon peeking from under your chair. Also, I heard voices, John, I'm not deaf."

"Correct, again, would you like to see it?"

Sherlock Holmes, the delightfully curious man, always tried to resist the thing that was sometimes a weakness, but was never successful, "Maybe."

"Put your clothes on and you can."

"Why should I?"

"I can just call Molly back to get it-"

"Okay, fine," Sherlock said with obvious annoyance. He almost dramatically went back to his room while John just sat down, smirking and reading the paper he had gotten while Sherlock was in the shower.

When Sherlock entered in again, this time he was clothed in his tight purple shirt and the trousers he usually wears. John, who was in another less horrid Christmas jumper, got up and set down his paper. He got a medium sized green box from his chair with a metallic red ribbon wrapped around it. He set it in Sherlock's waiting hands which the long fingers grasped onto in curious joy.

"Now don't figure it out, just open it."

"Dull, but fine," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John's words. He set it on the table, pulling an end of the ribbon so it was untied at once. His long fingers gently lifted the box's lid, revealing a folded up black trench coat inside. His stern face softened slightly as the slender fingers held it up, revealing the whole thing when he stepped back. Black, sleek, and obviously comfortable it made the corners of his mouth twitch into a subtly small smile. His eyes went to the inside of the collar which read, _Sherlock Holmes_.

"You-?"

"Not just me, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade pitched in, too. Your _friends_ wanted to give you something special."

"I don't have friends, though, John."

"That's where you're wrong, Sherlock, you do have friends. You just don't know it."

"Who's idea?"

"Mine."

At that, Sherlock's eyes trailed off from the wonderful present to the man beside him. His arms lowered as he dropped it on the table and turned fully to John.

"It's absolutely…" he paused, searching for a word, "You know what I mean. Thank you, John Watson, and tell the others I said that, too," and with that, he left to his room.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I'm going to make the next chapter _very_ long, by the way.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

The lanky man retreated, like always, to his room when feelings became present. His body was betraying him so much, but the wondrous present made his _caring_ more present than ever. Caring, an emotion he loathed so deeply. Caring to him meant pain, not happiness. All those who cared were always disappointed in Sherlock's mysterious eyes.

Sherlock hated it, this _caring_ all it brought him was pain, and others too. Alone. Alone protects him, not all of these people. So, he decided to text the person he loathes yet understand his own concept of caring.

_We must talk tonight._

_SH_

He stood at his own window, feeling slightly vulnerable and soft towards the way he had been acting lately. So _nice_ and so _caring_ all because of _him. _His phone buzzed, causing his attention to go to it as he swiftly took the device out of his pocket.

_I've been expecting this for quite a while. The palace or the morgue?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Sherlock had always been quick to reply to texts, if they weren't the annoying ones the woman used to hound him with.

_The palace. I rather not be around sobbing and annoying grievers today._

_SH_

He tucked his phone away, knowing Mycroft's reassuring response will be that he'll send someone after him to pick him up. His pale, smooth hands held each other behind his back in uniform position. He was in the same position he was then many times over. He stood there thinking for two hours, not even bothering with John and his knocking on the door. He just stood there until there was a text again, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes as he pulled it out.

_They're here._

_Mycroft_

Just then, the familiar buzz rung out through the flat as Sherlock checked the message. He burst through his door, walking past John without a word.

"Where are you going?" John curiously asked Sherlock.

"Out, I've been expecting someone," Sherlock said stiffly before going down stairs and exiting the building, leaving John Watson alone in the living room once again.

"Mr. –"

"I know," Sherlock said, entering the vehicle before they could even speak his name. Sherlock was always one to cut off people in the middle of a sentence. "Just save us the time and drive me to where I know I'm going to." Sherlock said in annoyance before the driver drove off at once.

Sherlock was never really impressed by the Buckingham Palace. It was just another building to him. Yes of course it held the most powerful family in all of England, but it also held his spiteful older brother, which lost all of his impression at once.

Mycroft Holmes, his true mummy throughout his childhood. They were a fine duo, nice and superb indeed. Then, Sherlock changed so suddenly. He became more resentful and spiteful of his biological mother, realizing how neglectful she was. Also, Sherlock was becoming strange. He was much too into science and philosophy while Mycroft had a knack for government. The differences caused the boys to fight harshly through their teen years, especially when Sherlock discovered he was gay. Mycroft already knew he was bullied, too, but never tried to stop it. It was something that Mycroft still regretted to this day.

Now, Sherlock sat there in the august scenery that was the Buckingham palace. Marvelous, it was, but he did not care. He needed to talk to his arch enemy not wait in a fancy room for his arrival.

The pompous Mycroft Holmes entered, only causing Sherlock to give him a mere side glance.

"Still gaining, I see," Sherlock almost spat as soon as he came into peripheral vision.

"I hope you didn't travel all the way to here just to say that," Mycroft uttered, taking a seat across from his little brother.

"No, I wish to discuss something with you, Mycroft," Sherlock reciprocated, leaning back in his own seat.

"I do take that it has something to do with John, am I wrong?"

"Well, he's relevant to this, but here is my little problem: Caring."

"Ah, you're beginning to care, then, I see, or at least become aware of it."

"Explain."

"It's _obvious_ you care about people, my little brother, you have the brain of a scientist and yet you choose to become a detective. What might we deduce about your heart, Sherlock?"

"It's _consulting _detective and that says nothing. I just simply enjoy the thrill of funny cases."

"Or _do_ you?"

"What exactly are you trying to imply?"

"You know exactly what I'm implying. That you do it because you care about people and because you _want _to be on the good side, or as you say: the side of the angels. If you were really as cold as you think you are, then why aren't you like Moriarty? Creating the murders instead of solving them?"

This almost silenced Sherlock. The man who would outlive God to have the last word was almost at loss for them. Almost, of course.

"Okay so what if I do –" he paused before uttering the rest of his words, "_care_ what do I do now? Caring brings only pain to those who experience it and I refuse for either John or I to experience the hells of caring."

"Then would you like to stay over at a posh hotel for a while. A break, people would say. Perhaps you could stay over there and get distracted with unsolved cases and break free from the caring you feel for John for a while."

Sherlock thought about it for a moment, thinking of all the possible outcomes of such a thing, "I will if you don't try to make conversation with me while I'm there."

"I never intended to," Mycroft complied with his signature smile.

"Right then," Sherlock nodded while speaking, getting up from the rather comfortable chair he was in, "Text me which one it which hotel it shall be and we'll make arrangements for the date I will go to it. And I guess, like most people, I should say 'Merry Christmas'. Well, let's pretend I did," Sherlock said, on his way out of the palace.

"And a happy new year," Mycroft said before his little brother was out of the palace.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I am SO sorry I haven't updated this in so long. I promise I'll try to update more; I just needed to get some stuff sorted out at home in order to write. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and please notice the rating change from T to M. c:

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

He left in the middle of the night to avoid an argument, and to avoid any more care that would come up due to John's reaction. He left a note on John's nightstand before kissing his forehead and getting in the car Mycroft got him. The posh hotel was just 15 minutes away from 221B Baker Street in case he needed to get to John in a hurry.

He began to read over, really solve, interesting unsolved cases for hours on end. It was a distraction that kept him cold and distant, and not warm and caring. That is why he loved this distraction so much. This was something to keep him from getting soft, warm, loving, and caring, all things that made a person dreadfully ordinary. It was too dull and horrid for the proper genius.

The text tone rang throughout the hotel room. He knew it was John. This was around the time he would wake up and begin to comprehend things.

_I should have expected this. It's really no surprise considering it's you._

_John_

_This is for your own good, John, you should know that._

_SH_

Then he turned the phone on silent.

John, on the other hand, sat in his chair, alone. He read his paper, occasionally glancing up like he always would, as if he expected Sherlock to be in the chair across from him. Every time he did he felt a slight pain in his heart from the loneliness he had now faced.

_How is it better, exactly? Alone doesn't exactly protect you, Sherlock, despite what you want to believe._

Sherlock just pulled out the violin he brought with him, playing tunes that kept going from happy to depressing. Sherlock Holmes was used to loneliness before he met John. He was so hated by everyone and such a pariah that he decided to seek peace by locking himself in a quiet room away from the harsh people who were only nice when they needed him.

Ahh, how everyone took advantage of him, and how he took advantage of them as well. He insulted people constantly because he knew they couldn't say anything that would hurt him too bad because they had feared he would not come in time of need. But, people took advantage of him as well. Like the cabbie, for example. He knew Sherlock would follow him, and not call the cops due to the unhealthy thirst for information on the serial killings. It was like a cycle of some sort.

Sherlock Holmes had also never had a fascination with ordinary people like John Watson himself, but there was something different about John. John Watson had a way with ordinary, in fact. He made it poetic, interesting, and fascinating to Sherlock. Therefore, after 'Study in Pink' he proved to Sherlock that for one, he was not going to bore him constantly like everyone else in the world, and two, their relationship was inevitable.

It was almost unbelievable to Sherlock, though, that John was willing to save his life. No one really showed such loyalty to him. To seek out Sherlock once knowing something was wrong. To kill a man for almost making Sherlock kill himself. It was touching, really, to realize that he was actually cared for by someone.

My, what did he do to John Watson?

* * *

Six days had passed, and it was now New Year's Eve. John and Sherlock visited each other once in that time, only resulting in a fight that drove them further apart.

Sherlock grew colder and more rigid as the days passed, waking in the middle of sleep screaming his head off, and almost tempted to go back to his old cocaine addiction. He screamed at himself countless times, furious at his own body for betraying him in such ways that he never thought was possible when it came to him.

At 9:00pm, he got a cab to go to 221B Baker Street, arriving at 10 o'clock due to a bit of traffic. He was hesitant at the door, only for a second before he knocked on the door greeted by a delightfully (and slightly) tipsy Mrs. Hudson. He was hugged by her before he asked where John was.

"Upstairs in you two's living room. Are you coming back, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I need to talk to him, though. I think you know why."

"Oh, I see what you mean now, Sherlock. Now, run along and get your man back," she said in a joking way, earning a chuckle from Sherlock.

He walked up the old wooden steps, some of them squeaking in the added weight. He was quiet, though, quiet like always, but this time it was an eerie disturbing quiet. A quiet that could frighten only all those who cared about him, which was very few.

He carefully and slowly opened the door, peeking in to see the blonde army doctor staring back almost wildly. He then stepped fully in, shutting the door behind him.

"You always thought of me as a human, you know. No one else thinks that of me. You, Doctor Watson, have also opened my eyes, and unfortunately my heart, to the poetic beauty of feelings such as loyalty, happiness, and the most despiteful: care."

"I'm not really sure if that was a compliment or not, but I'll take it."

"Good, you should," Sherlock said, walking over to his chair and sitting in it just like before he left, "John Watson, I'm afraid that I am falling in love with you."


	16. Chapter 16

****A/N: Bit shortish, but I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

"What?" John spoke with astonishment. Sherlock Holmes, the sociopath, had admitted to his ever growing feelings so calmly and casually it still astonished John Watson. It almost caused him to be speechless. Either way, Sherlock continued on.

"Yes, I am, and you are in love with me also. It's obvious. Even you can hear your own heartbeat in the silence when we kiss, John. Oh, and look how dilated your pupils are now," Sherlock said causing John to be utterly speechless. He was supposed to be mad at him, but now he's deduced something John hadn't even realized yet. "Now, there is something I want, John Watson, and I am certain you can guess it, and don't think I know nothing in that area, but, this is the closest I have ever gotten to love-."

"Wait, the closest?" John interrupted. He was already leaning in, his pupils obviously dilated as his eyes still showed astonishment from the words from the almost alien man in front of him. How torturing it must be to him, living in a world that is alien to him, and mocks him for being so alien to him.

"Yes, isn't it obvious? You've seen how I've talked about the people I'm supposed to love, John."

"So, that means, I'm all you have?"

"Unfortunately because it is easier to be broken when you cling on to one thing for dear life, but as Mycroft always said, all hearts are broken."

"Oh," John said, scolding himself internally when uttering the stupidly simple word. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't as rigid, but when it came to Sherlock Holmes, it was extraordinary. It was a moment of affection that was oh so rare. "I... I see."

"Anyway, I do not wish to have sex right now, John. When I, and you, am ready, we will. Also, like other sort of couples do, we will kiss at midnight."

"You make it sound so fun," John sarcastically commented as the tall man got up. As he did, he noticed something about his coat. It wasn't his old one, it was the new one.

"It will be, John," Sherlock said with a slight smirk, entering the kitchen when he took off the coat and threw on the sofa. He was _obviously_ about to start doing experiments.

"You're not doing any experiments tonight."

This caused a now annoyed Sherlock to roll his eyes at John. "Why?"

"Why do you need to? It's the holidays, Sherlock."

"I don't take holidays, John. Do you expect me to just be bored and do nothing? I had another theory anyway, why shouldn't I test it out?"

"Because of the destruction and messes these 'theories' cause, Sherlock."

"I don't _care_."

"Okay, fine then," John said with slight annoyance, knowing it was useless to attempt fight Sherlock Holmes on this subject, "but it can't have any possibility of making the whole flat smell horrid again."

"No promises."

* * *

After a little over an hour over experimenting and John's blogging, they decided to just stand next to each other by the window. Like always, Sherlock didn't speak much which meant John couldn't speak without scolding either. "Stop that," he would probably say or, "I don't care now shut up."

Sherlock was in the tight purple shirt that he loved wearing. Those strange eyes were capturing every detail, analyzing, and deducing. They occasionally flickered down to the above ordinary blogger to deduce and appreciate him.

The clock struck midnight which made Sherlock's eye immediately look to John. John was looking back at him, also. The kind of stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, not really sure what to do. It was obvious they were nervous. This whole relationship was something new to the both of them.

Sherlock was the one who initiated the kiss. He leaned down, pressing his lips to John's. His eyes were closed and his hand held John's chin gently. John closed his eyes also after feeling Sherlock's lips pressed to his own. Although it was something new it wasn't boring like Sherlock expected. Sherlock always looked at love and these kinds of relationships as something as dull and predicting, but with John Watson, it wasn't the case.

John Watson had a way of making ordinary into extraordinary. He opened Sherlock Holmes' eyes to the brilliance of ordinary. Also, he made Sherlock better, too. Used to, Sherlock didn't care one bit if there was a person lying on the ground dead in front of him, he just wanted to solve the case and enjoy the twists and turns of it. After meeting John, though, it became something else. Like 'The Great Game', as John called it in his blog, when the old woman died while talking to Sherlock, he began to realize the concept of humanity and morality. Only slightly, though.

He also gained a friend, more or less.

Now, Sherlock's hands grasped John's face, as if desperate to stay in a moment he has never experienced. It was frightening to him, but oh, it was so lovely. It was so lovely to press kiss John with such passion that he had never experienced. To feel feelings, to be betrayed by his body, for such a strange feeling such as love. It was lovely yet terrifying.

So, so _terrifying_.


End file.
